


White Flag

by Alphie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Season/Series 03, Sherlolly - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphie/pseuds/Alphie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither one can help the way they feel.  And neither one will change.  Set at the end of S2 and into S3.  Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: While I've written fan fic for years, this is my first Sherlock fan fiction in addition to the first piece I'm posting at AO3. Please let me know if I have done something wrong so that I can fix it! Thank you for reading. Reviews are love!

_I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,_

_Or tell you that._

_But if I didn't say it,_

_well I'd still have felt it_

_where's the sense in that?_

_I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder_

_Or return to where we were_

_I will go down with this ship_

_And I won't put my hands up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door_

_I'm in love and always will be_

_~ Dido_

**MOLLY**

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" 

"It's what _needs_ to be done." 

A chill suddenly washed over her that had nothing to do with the temperature of the morgue or the stone cold corpse lying on the slab in front of her. 

"I'll need to... dress him... properly."  The man was naked, and yet it was the idea of putting clothes _on_ him that made her stutter.  Brilliant. 

"Yes, I brought in the necessary items.  You'll find them in the locker room in the far back stall." 

She only nodded.  

He continued.  "And when this whole affair is over, you needn't bother with having them washed.  Just toss them out." 

A blink was her reply. 

There was a long pause while he just looked down at the corpse.  She could tell he was taking in everything about the dead man – things that might give the game away no matter how insignificant.  Things no normal person would see.  His eyes always danced when he was figuring things out. 

 His beautiful, ice blue eyes. She loved watching those eyes, so long as they were trained on other people.  She hated those eyes when he fixed them on her.  Because he only really ever looked at her when he needed her to do something for him.  And he would use his deductive powers to find the precise words that would persuade her to help him.  And she always helped him. 

Oh, who was she kidding?  She would help him regardless of what he said.  At least it meant he would talk to her.  And that she could hear his voice.  His delicious voice that affected her more deeply than she would ever admit.  

But again, he was sure to know that as well.  He knew everything it seemed.

 "He's taller than I am," he said, bringing her focus back to grim reality. 

"Easy to fudge," she offered.  "A fall like that will cause certain spinal damage.  His true height will be hidden." 

He hummed thoughtfully. 

"I'm more concerned about the cheekbones," she said with a smile, a weak attempt at lightening the dark mood that seemed to have settled over them.  "That is, I mean, your face – the bone structure is, well, very – it's very - " 

"Angular." 

"Striking."

 They spoke at the same time offering up thoughts on his appearance; his thoughts came from fact while hers from emotional opinion.  He tilted his head to the right ever so slightly in surprise.  She blushed crimson. 

"What I mean is... er..." she tried to cover, "your face is very distinctive, and this man's is... well, common."  

"You will just have to be careful that  he falls face first onto the pavement.  And that there is plenty of blood to detract from too much notice of facial differentiation."  He smiled at her.  Actually smiled.  While plotting his fake suicide.  "Besides, by the time John reaches me, I should be in place so that he will see _me_ up close and personal and not this poor chap.  No, I only need the corpse to actually hit the pavement for me.  That and serve as a body in the autopsy and burial." 

 It was so cold, so calculated.  It churned her stomach.  And brought tears to her eyes.

 "Sherlock, are you certain this is what you want to do?"

 He frowned at her.  "You already asked me that, once, Molly.  My answer has not changed, nor will it change."  Then a beat.  "Are you _crying_?"

 She shook her head no in an obvious lie.  "I just don't know how you can be so calm about this!"

 "I'm not calm, I'm just being logical.  This is what has to be done to convince Moriarty."

 "I know, I just..." she sniffed.  "I can't imagine coming to work and not having you pester me for samples."  She chanced a glance up at him.  "I'll miss you."

 His eyes shifted somewhat.  "You do realize that this plan ensures I will walk away perfectly fine.  I'm not _really_ going to be dead; I just have to make everyone believe that I am."

 "I know but... I..."

 "You...?"

 How was she supposed to say this without sounding like a teenager with a raging crush?

 "I will have to be the one to pronounce you dead and... and... "  She shook her head.  "Honestly, Sherlock, a person should never have to do that for someone they... well... that they care... about."

 He squinted at her.  "Caring?  Really, Molly..."

 "Yes, I care.  Stupid as it is."  He knew she cared about him.  Cared _for_ him.  He had to know... especially after Christmas.  "Which is why I find it difficult to do this!"

 "But don't you see, Molly, it's the key to the whole plan!  You are what makes this work.  Moriarty isn't focusing on _you_. I can't ask John or Lestrade because he's watching them for the importance he feels they have in my life.  But not you.  He's not watching you because you're not..."

 He stopped. 

 "Important," she finished.  "I get it."

 It stung like lemon juice on a paper cut.  More like a bullet right through the heart.  She knew Sherlock didn't feel deeply for her, but she at least thought she was important given that he always came to her for pathological discoveries.

 "No, that isn't what I meant.  You are important.  I told you so when I asked for your help."

 She couldn't look at him.  As a distraction, she zipped up the body and slid it back into the locker.  "I said I get it.  I'm important when you need me to be important.  The rest of the time... I'm just..."

 "Molly—" He placed a hand on her shoulder, making her freeze in place.  "You are important.  Moriarty is a fool for not seeing it."

 She wanted to believe him.  Yet as she looked up through her lashes at his handsome face, she knew he was once again lying and saying what she needed to hear so that she would help him.  Moriarty had seen the truth.  Molly was so insignificant to Sherlock that he didn't think twice about insulting her or her boyfriends.  He only wanted her around for pathological help and to provide him with samples.  Moriarty knew Sherlock used her... which was why is was so easy for Moriarty to use her as well.

 But, as always, the smile Sherlock offered was enough to make her heart thud in her chest and her ability to resist weaken. 

 "I will do as you ask, Sherlock.  But I don't think you understand what you are doing.  The consequences..."

 "The consequences are that no one will really get killed.  No one will be hurt."

 She barked a laugh in disbelief.  "If you think no one will be hurt by your death, then you really don't know anything about your friends."

 With cool detachment he said, "They'll get over it."  He turned to go, but stopped to add, "Besides, I won't be dead forever."

 Every step he took away from her broke her heart a little more.  He would leave, and she would stay.  What little hope she ever had for him to feel something in return for her crumbled as the distance between them grew.  Not that she ever had much hope to begin with.  Still, she knew she'd always love him.  How could she not? 


	2. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you for the kudos! As a new author to a fandom, every bit of support is like water to a parched man. I don't have a beta reader, so all mistakes are mine. Let me know if something needs to be fixed. Again, reviews are love!

_I know I left too much mess and destruction_

_to come back again_

_And I caused nothing but trouble_

_I understand if you can't talk to me again_

_And if you live by the rules of "it's over"_

_then I'm sure that that makes sense_

_I will go down with this ship_

_And I won't put my hands up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door_

_I'm in love and always will be_

_~Dido~_

 

 **SHERLOCK**  

She gasped and spun around, a smile lighting up her face as she took in his appearance.  _That_ was the reaction for which he was hoping!  _That_ was expected – typical – especially for Molly.  Surprise followed by joy.  Unlike John who had completely over reacted and managed to get them tossed out of no less than three eating establishments. 

Count on Molly to do as expected. 

 "When did you—"

 "I thought that I'd—"

 They both spoke at the same time.  That left her flustered, and she blushed scarlet.  How he'd missed that color.  So much more than he'd ever anticipated. 

 "You first," he said.

 "When did you get back?"

 "Just.  I thought that I'd come here first given that it wouldn't be too great a shock for you to see me since you already knew I was alive."

 "Not a shock to see you?"  She laughed.  "It's been two years, Sherlock.  Of course, I'm surprised."    

 "Not quite two years."

 Again she blushed.  She was probably remembering the time he spent hiding at her flat using her shower to get cleaned up.  Using her phone since he'd tossed his away on the roof of St. Barts.   Using her email account because no one would ever suspect Molly to be involved. 

 Using her. 

 He wondered when he'd stopped classifying it as "needing Molly" to "using Molly," and yet it had.  She had asked him once what he needed.  He had said he needed _her_.  However, the simple truth was that he didn't necessarily _need_ her, but rather he could _use_ her because she let him. 

 He wondered when he started feeling guilty for using her. 

 "So, you came here first?" she asked in a hopeful lilt of which he always took note.

 "No, I went to see John."

 "Oh..."  She looked up at him expectantly.

 "It didn't go very smoothly," he added.

 "Well, given how much you hurt him..." She caught herself and stopped, redirected, tried to cover.  Like she usually did.  "I mean, what did you think would happen?"

 "Honestly, I thought he'd be thrilled to see me." 

 Molly chuckled nervously.  "Really?" 

 Her reaction confused him.  He'd been wrong at his assumption on how John would respond to the knowledge that he'd faked his death.  Yet Molly seemed to expect John to respond negatively.  How did this quiet, timid, self depreciating pathologist always manage to see the truth so clearly in others and never herself?  Maybe that was the nature of her job - slicing people open to find answers.  But how did he - a highly logical, overly observant, borderline sociopath always fail to predict the reactions of the people whose lives mattered to him?

 Well, except Molly.  He always knew how she would react.  She was the one he could always count on to follow the projected emotional pattern.  He'd missed her predictability.

 "I never said anything," Molly said, drawing his focus.  "I almost did once, but I figured if it was safe for him to know, then you would tell him yourself.  I didn't want to be the one to bring you harm."

 Interesting. She kept the secret, but not because she worried for John's safety; she worried for _Sherlock's_ safety.  Having her worry about him was another facet of their relationship that he missed.    No one worried quite so fastidiously as Molly did.  It didn't escape Sherlock's notice that the warm feeling in his chest that came from knowing Molly - mousy Molly - wanted to protect him was slightly perverse. 

Caring is not an advantage.  Being cared _about_ , on the other hand, was unexpectedly advantageous.   

"Are you back for good?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so."

"How - how are you?"

"I'm well, thank you."

"You look...um..." 

Her cheeks blushed again, a sure sign that she was emotionally moved by his physical appearance.  Another Molly quality that he missed, but he would never admit to feeling pleasure at the way she looked at him.  No.  Never.

 "A little worse for the wear?' he offered when she failed to finish her sentence.

"I was going to say, but then thought... I didn't want to be rude.  I mean, You've been away in God knows what kind of horrible circumstance.  Of course you'd look... um..." 

He hid the smile her stammering encouraged.  "Actually, what you see here are not remnants from my trials with Moriarty's network, but rather my harrowing conversation with John." 

"John?" she gaped.  

"Yes." 

"John?" she repeated, the inflection suggesting disbelief.  "Did this?"

 "Yes."

 "He hit you?"

 "Yes.  Several times."

 She blinked and shook her head.  "Didn't you tell him you were coming?"

 "Why?  I wanted to surprise him, much the same as I surprised you."

 "Oh, God, Sherlock."  She rolled her eyes.  "No wonder he hit you." 

 "It is a wonder!  I don't see why he'd be so—"

 "You don't see why?" she interrupted, most uncharacteristically.  "No, of course you don't."  Facing away from him, she took off her lab coat and began readying herself to leave.  "To you, we're all just mere mortals waiting to be graced by your superior brilliance, aren't we?  I suppose you thought John would jump for joy and shake your hand at a prank well played?  That you'd have a laugh and pick up right where you'd left off?"

 This was most unlike anything Molly had ever said to him.  In the space of a moment, the eyelash batting, flirtatiously hopeful girl he'd come to rely on vanished and was replaced by a brutally honest woman.  It was unsettling.  She sounded cynical.  Pessimistic.  Like Sherlock.  He didn't like it.

 "I figured that John would, after a brief explanation of how I survived, be glad for my safe return and resume working alongside me."   

 She laughed again as she pulled out her bag and touched up her lip stick, fixed some stray hairs in her braid.  "Sherlock, that's not how things work.  You don't get to hurt people, make them grieve for you for two years, and then waltz back into their lives without any repercussions." 

 "Why not?  You've accepted me back."

She closed her locker and turned to face him full on.  "You're back, yes.  But that doesn't mean I wasn't hurt.  And it certainly doesn't mean there won't be repercussions.  I went two years without a word from you.  I knew you didn't die in that fall, but I didn't know you hadn't been killed elsewhere.  It's been a long time.  I'm not the same person I was two years ago, Sherlock.  None of us are the same."

He wanted to argue with her, but was stopped short when she casually reached into her pocket, pulled out a diamond ring, and slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand.  The motion looked like part of a routine she performed every day at the end of her shift.  Naturally, she wouldn't wear rings while performing an autopsy. 

The Romans believed there was a vein in the third finger that was directly connected to the heart: the Vena Amoris or Vein of Love.  While completely untrue, the belief is partially why people wear wedding rings on that particular finger.  And now Molly wore a ring that obviously had to be an engagement ring on that finger. 

He didn't quite understand what had just happened.  Molly verbally put him in his place?  Molly was engaged?  And now Molly was walking away from him without swooning or asking him to dinner? He liked it when Molly was predictable.  He needed her to be predictable.  He couldn't use her if she was unpredictable.

"I have to go, Sherlock."  She smiled, and for some unknown reason his heart skipped a beat.  "I'm really glad you're back, and I'm sorry John didn't take it well.  But I do have to go.  Call me if you need anything, ok?"

He nodded, and then she left.   _She_ actually walked away from  _him_ .  It didn't take a genius very long to deduce from the lip stick and hair fluff that she was going to see to her fiancé.  It did, however, take a genius two long years away and the addition of a golden symbol of devotion offered by someone other than himself to realize he'd just lost the best thing that had ever happened to him. 


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So sorry it's taken this long to post part three.  Many thanks to all those who have left kudos!**

**Once again, the mistakes are all mine as I have no beta.  If you see something fixable, great!  Let me know how you like it!  Reviews are love!**

_And when we meet which I'm sure we will_

_All that was there will be there still_

_I'll let it pass and hold my tongue_

_And you will think that I've moved on...._

_I will go down with this ship_

_And I won't put my hands up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door_

_I'm in love and always will be_

_~Dido~_

 

 **MOLLY**  

Meat dagger?  He hadn't honestly said that, had he?  In front of everyone?  In front of Sherlock? 

Oh, God. She knew he wasn't brilliant like Sherlock, but she didn't really know how clueless he was.  Meat dagger?  Really?  

His hand clasped hers as they watched Mary and John dance.  His hand felt too big, too unnatural all of a sudden.  She was startled when he nudged her with his elbow, certain that he could sense her discomfort.  But when she looked up to meet his eyes, he was smiling down at her. 

"That'll be us soon!" he hushed into her ear.  

She shivered, not out of joy but out of worry.  A woman shouldn't worry about marring the man she loves.  A woman shouldn't consider the man she loves to be so far beneath her in intelligence.  A woman shouldn't be wishing the man she loves could play the violin as brilliantly as another man. 

The whole room was watching Mary and John, yet her eyes were on Sherlock.  His long fingers bent and curved around the neck of the violin so gracefully.  He'd composed this piece.  Mrs. Hudson had told her so.   Regardless of what people may believe about Sherlock Holmes, he had to understand romance at some level to be able to compose such perfect music for a wedding dance.

 "Don't really care for the song, though.  Do you?" 

Molly snapped her attention back up to Tom.  "What?" 

"The song.  Kind of dull.  It lacks a beat." 

"I think it's lovely," she said somewhat sternly.  

That was all that was said until the music changed and everyone was dancing to The Four Seasons.  Tom pulled her onto the dance floor and swung her around.  She went with him even though her attention was on Sherlock and the conversation he was having with John and Mary.  

"This is more like it!"  Tom said as he spun her around. 

Molly willed her reluctant body to at least appear as if she was enjoying the dance, but her eyes, once again, looked for Sherlock.  She spotted him looking around the room.  She tried to ignore the pain in her heart when she saw him looking at that bride's made.  He'd never looked at Molly the way he looked her.  But then she saw that he was walking out of the room.  Alone.  And when she looked back at Tom, it took all her strength not to run after Sherlock. 

 

 **SHERLOCK**  

He was cautious as he approached her.  Last time they'd been face to face, she had smacked him silly.  And he'd been cruel about her broken engagement.   That was his way; when someone he cares about hurts him, he finds the most painful way to hurt them back.  It must have really been brutal, too, for she had failed to visit him in hospital after he'd been shot.  

He took a deep breath and reminded himself of that fact.  He'd been in hospital for over a week and yet she hadn't visited him.  Molly, who cried over his fake death, hadn't bothered to worry herself with his potentially real one.  Oh yes, he'd done a real number on her by mocking her break up with Tad...? Ted...? 

She was working with some chemicals, doing some sort of experiment.  Testing tissue samples, from the look of the various bits laid out in front of her and the scalpel in her hand.  She hadn't had a scalpel the last time they spoke.  She could do some real damage with that were he to piss her off again.  Best tread gently.  

"The body is still out on the table, if you need a look," she said without meeting his eyes.  Or offering a greeting.  Or even trying to feign niceties. 

"Thank  you."  He walked over to the table and waited for her to join him.  Which she did not do.  "What did you find?" he asked. 

"Stab wound to the side.  He bled out."

 Sherlock scowled at the lack of information she offered.  "Not very thorough today, Molly." 

"What's the point?  You'll just correct my findings and make me feel like shite." 

Sherlock turned to face her, stunned by her choice of words.  "Molly...?" 

"So why don't we just skip all that, since I already feel like shite.  I'll save you the trouble of finding a decent insult."  The snapping sound that came from her gloves as she removed them before storming out of the room was reminiscent of a gunshot.  

Sherlock watched her go, completely baffled at her outburst and behavior.  Did she really carry that deep of a grudge against what he'd said about Tim...?  Ty...?  The man was an imbecile.  The impossibility of the relationship lasting was a foregone conclusion.  Molly was too brilliant to merge her life with someone so far beneath her.  Thank God she had realized it and called it off before Sherlock had been forced to say something to her.  

Or maybe she didn't call it off.  Maybe that was the root of her distress.  Could Tate...? Troy...? have broken up with Molly?  Surely not.  He would prove to be the most idiotic buffoon  if he gave up a treasure such as Molly.  

It was as Sherlock was shaking his head that he noticed the papers lying on the table to the left of where Molly had been working.  _Shag-A-Lot Holmes_.  _He Made Me Wear the Hat_.  _7 Times a Night_.  

Oh no. 

She had seen them.  More than that, she had read them.  And obviously believed them.  Her outburst made much more sense to Sherlock given this new information.  It pained Sherlock that Molly believed the headlines.  

But then again, it would be better for her in the long run to believe the worst about him.  She already romanticized about him more than she should.   Given the fact that her former fiancé was a near dead ringer for Sherlock, it was clear Molly was still attracted to him.  The one good thing about Tony...?  Trent...? was that it kept Molly at a distance.  The last thing Sherlock needed was for anyone to discover his feelings for Molly.  It was a damn good thing Moriarty was dead, because he would certainly exploit Sherlock's relationship with Molly. 

Yes, best leave Molly to her anger.  That way she might move past her feelings for Sherlock once and for all.   

 


End file.
